talking to myself
June 12th, 2002Shit. I'm LATE. I just woke up, and I have no clean work clothes other than the load in the washer.
I know, I know. You're asking, "Did you forget to set your alarm clock, Daniel?"
No.
"Did the power go out?"
No.
"Don't you set three different alarms?"
Yes
"Did you sleep through them all?"
No
"So you woke up?"
Yes
"On time?"
Yes
"Then why are you late?"
I told myself that I could lay down, just for a few more minutes, after all three alarms had been turned off. This was after hitting snooze for over thirty minutes.
"Why?"
Because sleeping felt better then being awake.
"What time did you go to bed?"
I don't know.
"You don't know?"
Around… 3am… maybe… I don't know.
"You are really dumb."
I know.
"No. I mean really dumb!"
I fucking know. Jesus.
So now I'm waiting for clothes to dry thinking about the fact that I am supposed to be getting to work right about now. I should call my boss and tell him I am going to be late. I know I should. But, since he is going to yell at me when I get to work anyway, I'd rather only get yelled at once, instead of on the phone as well.
If I can be ready in thirty minutes, I'll only be an hour or so late.
